Or, bide thou where the poppy blows With windflowers fail and fair. — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Ere, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The woods of Autumn, all around our vale, Have… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within. — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at. — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower. — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last. — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Do not the bright June roses blow To meet thy kiss at morning hours? — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The little windflower, whose just opened eye is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at. — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
But Winter has yet brighter scenes-he boasts Splendors beyond what gorgeous Summer knows; Or Autumn with his many fruits, and woods All… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The breath of springtime at this twilight hour Comes through the gathering glooms, And bears the stolen sweets of many a flower… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The air was fragrant with a thousand trodden aromatic herbs, with fields of lavender, and with the brightest roses blushing in tufts… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Loveliest of lovely things are they, On earth, that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The sweet calm sunshine of October, now Warms the low spot; upon its grassy mold The pur0ple oak-leaf falls; the birchen bough… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Come when the rains Have glazed the snow and clothed the trees with ice, While the slant sun of February pours Into… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
On rolls the stream with a perpetual sigh; The rocks moan wildly as it passes by; Hyssop and wormwood border all the… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
When April winds Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up, Opened in airs… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Ye winds ye unseen currents of the air, Softly ye played a few brief hours ago; Ye bore the murmuring bee; ye… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The country ever has a lagging Spring, Waiting for May to call its violets forth, And June its roses-showers and sunshine bring,… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Ah, passing few are they who speak, Wild, stormy month! in praise of thee; Yet though thy winds are loud and bleak,… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Lo! while we are gazing, in swifter haste Stream down the snows, till the air is white, As, myriads by myriads madly… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
It is a sultry day; the sun has drunk The dew that lay upon the morning grass; There is no rustling in… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Stand here by my side and turn, I pray, On the lake below thy gentle eyes; The clouds hang over it, heavy… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The summer day is closed - the sun is set: Well they have done their office, those bright hours, The latest of… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within. — William C. Bryant Copy Share
Lo! while we are gazing, in swifter haste Stream down the snows, till the air is white, As, myriads by myriads madly chased, They… — William C. Bryant Copy Share
Sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down… — William C. Bryant Copy Share
But Winter has yet brighter scenes-he boasts Splendors beyond what gorgeous Summer knows; Or Autumn with his many fruits, and woods All flushed with… — William C. Bryant Copy Share
Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,- The eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his… — William C. Bryant Copy Share
And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last. — William C. Bryant Copy Share
A silence, the brief Sabbath of an hour, Reigns o'er the fields; the laborer sits within His dwelling; he has left his steers awhile,… — William C. Bryant Copy Share
The rugged trees are mingling Their flowery sprays in love; The ivy climbs the laurel To clasp the boughs above. — William C. Bryant Copy Share
There is a day of sunny rest For every dark and troubled night; And grief may hide an evening guest, But joy shall come… — William C. Bryant Copy Share
Poetry is that art which selects and arranges the symbols of thought in such a manner as to excite the imagination the most powerfully… — William C. Bryant Copy Share
